The Timekeeper
by PixieGirl13
Summary: Full Summary Inside: To you, life if made up of months, days, or even years. For me, I see the seconds. I see all the little wonders. The twists and turns that fate provide. The past, present, and future is at my fingertips. I am the ghost of time...
1. Chapter 1 A Beginning

Full Summary: To you, life if made up of months, days, or even years. For me, I see the seconds. I see all the little wonders. The twists and turns that fate provide. The past, present, and future is at my fingertips. I am the ghost of time, and this is my story. My life, my death, and everything that falls in between.

A/N: I love starting out on a new fan fiction! I'm always was nervous and excited about how others will think about it. Anyways, like you read in the summary, this is what my imagination has come up with for Clockwork's past. He's always been such an interesting Danny Phantom character. And he's always been my favorite.

Before you read on, I have some things to say. Although this story will take place a lot in the 1800's, do not expect me to sound as flowing and poetic-like like Charles Dickenson and the authors like him. They were of that time period, so they have full advantage over a girl who was born in the whacked up 1990's.

Also, there will be plenty of Danny and the rest of the cast of characters from the show. I want to bring in as much as I can from the Phantom world Hartman has created into this story. So don't go thinking I'm throwing all of 'em away for the sake of Clockwork.

Lastly, for the people who know me from my other work, I don't have any schedule on when I'm gonna update for this one. This fan fic is a challenge I have created for myself, and I'm not gonna stress myself out by planning on updating every two weeks. I've already proven to myself I can do it, now I can relax and take my time.

Now, with all that out of the way, enjoy reading! And please review!

Disclaimer: All Danny Phantom characters belong to Butch Hartman and Nick. None of them belong to me. Some of the characters here are true people from real life. The way I portray them might not be how they were in life. A few characters are mine, though.

The Timekeeper

Written by Pixiegirl13

Chapter 1 A Beginning

I can tell you the exact year, month, day, and hour I was murdered. It was the year 1888. The month was November. It was cold that month. London's Novembers are usually very cold. Snow can do that to a city. It was Friday the 9th. The hour had to be about four in the morning. I've always been so good at remembering dates but, somehow, this one is the one I can't seem to ever forget...even if I want to or not.

At the time, I thought I was being noble. That I was being some brave and righteous superhero I had seen from the future of some sort. In the end, I died. I see now that I was young and reckless. Trust me, I've tried to fix that. You have no idea how many times I've gone back in time and tweaked my actions to try and prevent my untimely death.

What's ironic about this is that my death wasn't untimely. It was perfect timing. Everything is perfect timing. It took me a long time to realize this and even more to except it.

Nothing is ever untimely.

If you insist that that isn't true, you're saying I don't do my job well. You do not want to upset the ghost of time. Not a pleasant thing, I might add. I could put you in a perpetual time freeze while you're in math class and busy digging for gold as your boring teacher drones on about fractions. It is a fabulous method for entertainment. Not only do I enjoy a laugh or two, but your classmates will sure get a kick out it.

But I'm straying from my point. The reason for a story is for it to have a point, yes? Don't worry. There is a moral to this brilliantly told story. You'll see it eventually. First, though, I need a beginning. All stories need one. Sometimes they are the most crucial part. And at other times they tend to be boring and tedious. But I will start at the beginning nonetheless.

I don't believe the date of my death is the right way to begin. Really, it was the middle of my story, and it will not suffice. It is easier for a human to understand a story if it goes in orderly time periods. I can not just start my tale in the middle of it. I will have to go back to the beginning.

I'll begin the hour the day started. It was perfect, and the hour it finished was ruin.

-London, England. August 31, 1888-

The bed was so warm and comfortable. The homemade quilt had successfully held my body heat over the night. It hadn't been a particularly cold night, so it hadn't been a hard task. But I was thankful for it's job well done when I woke up. I wanted to bask in the bliss of the cozy covers for the rest of the hour.

Sighing with happiness, I stretched my arms and rolled over to wake up my wife. For a second I just watched her there in her peaceful sleep. Her long, chestnut, brown hair was spiraled out on her white pillow like an oriental fan. I knew the texture of it without having to touch those soft, weightless strands.

My lips were inches away from her exposed ear. They were ready to whisper a wonderful morning message to her that was guaranteed to make her day.

"Aldan, don't you say a word until you've made the coffee," she told me without opening her eyes. I noted, with loving annoyance, as her lips tweaked into a little smile. I opened my mouth again. "Don't even think about it, sir," she said. "Coffee. Now."

"Honestly, you're like a bear in the morning," I pouted with a roll of my eyes. "Why'd I have to marry such a grouch like you, Lottie? You're no fun."

"I'll be as sweet as a kitten once I have that coffee," Lottie told me with a giggle. She only acted this bold and outspoken around me. The second she was ready for the day and walking out our front door for work, she'd be just as lady like and cultivated as any other girl in this depressing city. I knew I had better milk the better part of her out of her before I had to say goodbye.

"Kitten, eh?" I asked, raising a lone eyebrow. "That does sound like an improvement. Too much fur, though. And don't tell me you'll be coughing up hair balls. Maybe I should keep you in bear form for a little bit longer."

"All right, you big baby, what do you want from me?" Lottie asked as she rolled over to face me.

"This," I said before taking her head in my large, calloused hands and kissing her softly. She deepened it as she gently ran her slender fingers through my shortly cut, brown and messy hair. I knew I was a lucky guy right then and there. This was the best wife I could have ever imagined. And the best part about it...she was all mine.

Finally Lottie broke the kiss with an excited and refreshed sigh. She gave me a sly grin before saying, "You're late with that coffee, sir."

"Oh, you really are a witch," I shot back with pretend irritation.

"Your words hurt me, Aldan," she said playfully. She placed her left hand against her chest in mock distress.

"I'm sure they do," I said sarcastically. "Now, we can bargain for this cup of coffee. You could give me something in return for my service. You know how preparing coffee is such a grueling and arduous task. I'll need some payment for all my hard work."

Lottie laughed at this. "Just get me my coffee, sweetie," she said with a demeaning nod.

A sigh escaped me with these words. I could take a hint. She wasn't in the mood. Instead of persisting like I usually would with any other person, I sat up, flung my legs over the side of the squeaky bed, and began yanking on my boots. She watched me in silence with weary brown eyes.

The early rising sun flittered through the usual smog that clouded the skies of the city. It came through the little window and rested on my wife's face, making it glow in the radiance of the sun. Even all her little freckles that dotted that small, pointed nose of hers seemed to sparkle in the light.

"I'm taxing you next time," I told her as I stumbled into my clothing for that day. They consisted of a loose, white cotton shirt with a worn green vest over top. The pants I shoved on were ratty. Many times Lottie had come to the rescue on them with a needle and thread. Lottie smiled at me when I said, "You can not escape the law, Lottie."

"Coffee," she said as I opened the door.

"Yes, I know, you want it hot, not _warm_, two lumps of sugar, and half of it milk. Am I right?" I asked with my own wry smile. "Or am I daft?"

"Smart-arse," she muttered. I caught the evil smile that crept to her lips after saying this. She knew she'd probably be shunned for the rest of her life if she acted like this in London's proper and pristine public.

It just made it more fun for me who had grown up all my life in America and was used to more dominant and headstrong women from my youth. I thought I'd never come into contact with a girl like the ones from my childhood when I moved back to England and saw all the snobbish ladies walking around with their noses held high. Lottie had been for me like a diamond in the rough. Some dreams do come true, I guess I could say.

"It's what I do, my fair lady," I said with an overdramatic bow. "I have to be one to qualify to be your husband. Thankfully, smart-arse is in my blood."

"Stop being so goofy and go already," she giggled, rolling the other way on the bed to prevent herself from looking at me. It squealed from the movement. I winked at her from the doorway when she carefully looked over her shoulder as if making sure I was gone. Her laugh rang through my ears as I quietly shut the wooden door behind me.

It was only when I had arrived down stairs in the back of my shop that I realized I had woken up a few minutes earlier than I usually did. To any other normal person, this wouldn't have been important in any shape or form, but to me, it was quite interesting. I had never woken up late or early before in my life.

The times I thought I had woken up late always turned out to be days it didn't matter if I slept in or not. And the days I woke up early were always days I unexpectedly had many things to do that day. It turned out by me waking up early was a prosperous thing each time. Never had I woken up and realized something bad had happened because I had either slept in too much or got up too early.

There was a reason for me waking up a few minutes early that day. I wondered what it would be as I stoked the fire and prepared the coffee. My eyes rested on the small bed beside the brick fireplace. The two tiny lumps sleeping soundly under the covers were silent for one peaceful moment. Worry for them clouded my eyes, and my head began to wonder about a future that seemed so bleak.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, both my children sleeping there were a joy to my life. Amelia, who was six, was so much like Lottie. She was brave and outgoing. I loved her sweet sing song voice whenever she talked. Frances, with five years under her small belt, was like me. Quiet and pensive, Francis had a way of looking wise and surprisingly witty for her young age. And when she smiled, she seemed to light up the world.

A knock from the shop's front door sounded just as I got the fire started. A knowing smile flittered across my lips. Typical. My powers of waking up on time had never ceased to fail me.

As I strolled into my shop, which was in the front of the house, I grabbed my brown pauper hat from a chipping wooden peg on the wall and shoved it onto my head. The shop was lit by the large window that showed the sidewalk. It was, as usual, over crowded with busy people walking briskly to their work or to other places they thought were important that morning. The street was clogged with horse drawn carriages being pulled to and fro. Their obnoxious calls and noises were blocked by the sound of millions of ticking clocks that covered every free surface in my shop.

The bell on the door to my shop rang melodiously when I opened it a crack to see who was knocking at the early hour. The man who stood at my doorstep was tall and clothed in a middle class wool jacket with a tuft of a white handkerchief blossoming out of his breast pocket. He wore leather gloves, even though London's weather wasn't very cold yet. To complete his outfit, a bowler hat sat perfectly on his graying head.

"Ah, Mr. Boone!" the man said as he closed the clasp of his golden pocket watch and put the device back into its place. His mustache curled at the ends as he smiled and said, "You're always just on time."

"Good one, Mr. Lusk," I said with a tight smile. "Haven't heard that one before."

"I know, I'm such a jokester, now aren't I?" George Lusk said with some pride evident in his voice.

"I'm sure, sir," I said with sarcasm that the man wouldn't recognize even if it hit him square in the face. When he didn't catch the hint in my tone, I let a grin cross my face for my own benefit.

"I came by to ask you something, my young man," Mr. Lusk said, mistaking my expression for one of liking him.

"I believe I have the time to talk before I open shop," I said only to be polite.

"Oh, good one, Mr. Boone!" the man laughed loudly. It was one of those overly boisterous laughs that were only meant to get attention. No one paid him attention.

I let him into my shop, sighing under my breath, "I'm hilarious."

"What was that?" Lusk asked as he gave me his bowler hat to hang on the peg by the front door for customers.

"Nothing, sir," I replied with a pleasant, fake smile. "Go ahead and make yourself at home. Um...please don't touch anything." The man nodded in understanding and tried to sit himself on one of the stools by my workspace without disturbing the sea of clock parts and innards that lay there.

I wondered why he was here if it wasn't for me to fix his pocket watch. My shop was probably one out the three here in London that fixed and made clocks. Mine was the best, I had to admit. I'd been able to support my entire family for seven years, and the business was always steady. There really wasn't another reason for Mr. Lusk to visit me on my off hours. I wondered what he could want.

I placed his hat on its peg as I silently pondered the possibilities. I was tempted to put a dent in it with a finger, just in spite, but I decided against it. Lusk was a good customer. That precious pocket watch of his always needed maintenance. He only trusted me to handle it besides himself.

"You like Robert Louis Stevenson's work, Boone?" Lusk asked as he went against my wishes and picked up the single book from my desk and flipped idly through the pages.

"Yes, I do," I answered tersely. I leaned over him and plucked the novel out of his hands while saying, "And it is brand new, so I would appreciate it if you'd wait later to borrow it because I'm only half-way through."

"Boone, _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ was first printed two years ago," Lusk pointed out with a scoff of a laugh. "Don't tell me it's taken you this long to splurge on yourself. Mrs. Boone must keep you in line, am I right? Not a good thing, my dear boy. Women aren't made to manage the money."

He would have died under my cold stare if it could actually kill him. The annoying man should have considered himself lucky I had woken up to greet him that day. Instead of his gratefulness, he was only making me want to hurt him.

"Well, it doesn't really matter now," Lusk said with a simple throw of his head. The motion made him look like a demented chicken, but I guessed it was his way of trying to go on to another subject. "Stevenson isn't as good as Shakespeare. You should have gotten _Romeo and Juliet_. Such a beautiful play."

The poor man. He didn't know the difference between a good adventure novel and poetry. I almost felt sorry for him. And I would have, believe me, I would, but he'd insulted the man who had written _Treasure Island_. I wasn't in the mood for forgiveness after that.

"Riveting," I assured the man, my tone flat. "I'll be sure to get myself a copy."

"Yes, you should do that," Mr. Lusk agreed with a conceited nod. "But only if you think you'll understand the complexity of his words. He doesn't write pathetically simple sentences like Stevenson, here." He pointed to the book in my hands. "William Shakespeare's stories have _meanings_ behind them."

"I think I can handle it," I said, trying to repress a growl.

"Are you positive?" he asked, raising a fuzzy eyebrow in doubt.

"You'd be surprised how much I can comprehend, sir," I got out through clenched teeth. The urge to throw my book at the ignorant man only grew worse as I stared at him, but I didn't want to ruin such a nice and exciting tale with the harsh beating of it against his ugly, mustached face.

"Alright," I said after an awkward pause which he spent taking out his pocket watch and glancing at the time as if he had some important place to be. I guess he hadn't taken the time to notice that he was in a _clock_ shop either. He wasn't the brightest person I knew, thankfully.

"Down to business, Boone," the man said finally. I thought the point of this silly conversation would never come. "Have you read the paper this morning?"

"No, I don't think I have," I answered, glad that I was getting out of this farcical conversation of his before it even had began. The smile on my lips showed this emotion of mine, but I don't think the man noticed.

_Slam!_

I was suddenly greeted with Friday's paper sitting diabolically on my worktable with the hard slap of Mr. Lusk's wrist. The bold headlines screamed something I didn't take the time to read as I watched clogs and bolts scatter to the floor. Just what I needed: a scavenger hunt for clock parts. It was a grand way to start my morning.

"Oh," I said with a defeated sigh. "It's the paper. How wonderful."

"Read the headlines!" Lusk ordered urgently. He pointed a commanding gloved finger at the large letters blaring out of the page.

"You _really_ want me to read the paper, sir?" I asked him with a sarcastic smile.

"Yes!" he practically yelled. "That's what I said, didn't I? Seriously, boy, it's like you don't even listen to me sometimes." He wasn't entirely incorrect there. Sometimes I actually _chose_ not to listen. Other times I did it naturally. Such a wonderful habit.

My eyes skimmed across the thin pages of the newspaper but only to humor the man's dire needs. The more I read, the more my attention vanished from the room and settled itself in on the words that told the story of a woman who had been brutally murdered. It was a gruesome tale. The woman, a prostitute named Marry Ann Nichols, had been stabbed in the throat two times by a man early that morning near Whitechapel. It also said that her abdomen had suffered many attacks by the knife as well.

"This is awful," I said quietly. My stomach churned at the disgusting thought of any man who would be so perverted that he would do that to an innocent woman before murdering her.

"The worst part is that he hasn't been caught," Mr. Lusk said gravely. "That man is still out there on London's streets, acting like a normal person who hasn't spilled innocent blood. The police are trying their best to catch him, but I, quite frankly, believe they don't have the right means to do it."

"What do you mean?" I asked in wonder. My eyebrows knitted together in perplexity. "They are the professionals. I'm sure they know what they are doing here, Mr. Lusk."

The man rolled his eyes as if I was being ignorant. He leaned closer to me, eyes shining with intensity. I felt my heart start to beat faster in my chest as he whispered to me, "This murder was committed by a wild man, Boone. He will strike again soon. I will bet on it. The police do not realize the murderer can not be found by simple procedures of the workforce. To find him, we need something...more."

"No," I said firmly. "That is a stupid idea."

"Don't stay that, Boone," Lusk said, wagging a scolding finger at me. "You could actually be a hero and find this murderer."

My eyes darkened as I leaned my scowling face into his and told him seriously, "I didn't tell you about those dreams just so you could use me as some damn gypsy fortune teller. Be a gentleman and move on to some other freakshow. I'm in no mood to go chase a killer down dark, dank streets in the middle of the night."

"Aldan," Lusk said in shock. "Please reconsider. You'd be doing this for the greater good."

"I never asked for those visions, George!" I hissed back at him. "And I shouldn't have told you about them if all you want to do is use them for your ridiculous hunts for a crazy man."

Lusk leaned back and away from me as if to give us some space and let both of us breathe. He gave a long, tired sigh while I glared at my worktable in growing distress. My past visions had never been troublesome, but they had changed for the worse a few months ago when I "dreamed" of another murder before it happened.

It had been a mistake to tell Mr. Lusk and his buddies at the pub about it. To make a long story short, there was a lot of alcohol involved and an excessive amount of prodding on Mr. Lusk's part. He picked at me and demanded for the story at a time I was most vulnerable, and he knew that at the time. He had used me then, and he would use me again by getting me to find the killer before he struck again. But it wasn't as simple as that. He didn't understand how these visions of mine actually worked.

"I don't want to use you, Boone," Lusk said calmly. "And, if you feel so strongly against the matter, then I suppose all those poor, innocent people out there on the streets will have to wait patiently for the police to find the murderer."

His eyes didn't make a connection with mine. Instead, he stared out of the window, trying to make it look like he wasn't interested in me anymore and that I was beneath him because I didn't want to help. I wasn't a dolt. I knew he was trying to get me to feel guilty. What I hated so much about it is that it worked.

"Fine," I sighed. I will always be a proud man. I didn't like to admit defeat. As if to hide this distasteful emotion with myself, I put my face in one of my hands and rubbed my forehead before saying quietly, "I'll tell you if I have another one of my visions."

The thought of that innocent woman's death was what changed my mind. What if that girl had been Lottie? What if Lottie was killed and someone out there had the means to have prevented it? Even if my visions were now unsettling things, I still needed to do something about them. If I could actually save the fate of another victim with my visions, I needed to be willing to at least tell someone about them. Mr. Lusk was more than ready to listen. At least he had good intentions.

"You're a good man, Boone," Lusk told me with a pat on my shoulder.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically. "I feel so much better now."

"That's good," Lusk said with a stupid smile and nod. Idiot. He got up from the stool with that triumphant little smile still plastered to his lips as if in a gloat. I stood up with him, my face showing no amount of joy. "Now," he said with finality, "I need to be going."

"Let me show you to the door," I said while turning around and heading straight for the entrance. I knew I was behaving a little rudely to someone who was above me in the social ladder, but I was thoroughly too annoyed by the man to see this clearly.

"Well, Mr. Boone, I believe you made a very fine choice today," Lusk said as I handed him his hat and opened the door for him. The bell jingled once again. It didn't sound so pretty now.

"Of course you do," I stated in a soporific tone.

"Oh! Good day, Mrs. Boone!" Lusk suddenly called into the shop. My eyes widened in surprise as I turned my head sharply to the side to see my wife dressed and ready for the day in a plain, sky blue, cotton dress. Her corset gave her already beautiful body a perfect hourglass figure, and the bottom of her dress billowed around her legs, swinging like a bell to each precise movement she made with her hips. She softly closed the door to the back room and smiled pleasantly at both of us. In her hands was a regular cloth bonnet which she deftly threw upon her head and tied into place.

"Good morning, Mr. Lusk," Lottie said in a gentle, kind voice to the man standing beside me who hadn't left. "What a nice surprise to see you this fine morning. What brings you here today, sir?" Like always, she had the greatest charm. She was such an amazing woman.

"Your husband, here, has just agreed to join a certain committee with me," Lusk explained as he indicated me with a wave of his hand. I returned his gesture with a lazy glare. "We were discussing the morning paper as well. But you shouldn't read it. The subject matter is much too harsh for a delicate woman such as yourself."

Only I saw the flare of indignation in her eyes after he said this. A knowing smirk crossed my lips as I stared intently at my wife. She managed to keep herself calm and collected as she always did. It was a beautiful art how she did this, really.

"Thank you for the warning, Mr. Lusk," Lottie said with a gentle dip of her head.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Boone," Lusk said with some satisfaction in his voice. I saw the look of want in his eyes, and it made me sick to my stomach with a fury that could hardly be contained. The urge to kick him out the door was the dominant thought in my head.

"I will talk to you later, Mr. Boone," Lusk said after an awkward pause between the three of us. I watched him carefully as he stepped out of the shop and dusted off his jacket, as if trying to get rid of me and my poor status already. His eyes pinned me with one last stare as he said in a low whisper, "Tell me if you have another...you know."

"I know," I said.

"Good day to both of you," Mr. Lusk said with a slight bow before turning lively and walking down the sidewalk with the proud essence of a flaunting peacock. I had a quick wish that he would trip. It wasn't granted, unfortunately.

Once he was out of sight, Lottie crossed the room to stand beside me at the door. When she stood like she did with her back straight, hands placed precisely in front of her, and head held highly, I always thought of a flower trying to out stand the oncoming season of fall. There was a certain amount of dying dignity in those eyes of hers. It always broke my heart when I saw her like that.

"Lottie, I'm sorry about the coffee this morning," I started clumsily. My hands seemed to try and explain with erratic motions as I searched for the correct words I could use to apologize. "Mr. Lusk came and wanted to talk. I got distracted." I would have gone on, but the calm raise of her left hand clammed me up immediately.

"Tomorrow you can redeem yourself," she told me with a small, controlled smile. "Please take care of the girls. Their fevers still haven't gone down since yesterday. The poor things. They will need more attention from you today."

"I understand," I said.

"Do well today in the shop, sweetheart," she said with a lighter tone of voice. Although she gave me a placid smile, I didn't feel the usual warmth of a real one. I so badly wanted her to be happy, but I didn't know how to go about getting it for her. It felt like I was pathetically helpless.

Before I could come up with words of comfort, she was already out the door and walking down the sidewalk without another glance behind her. My body reacted without much thought. I threw a hand up into the air and waved goodbye to her fleeting form. She didn't see me.

Sighing heavily, I leaned my back against the door jam and watched the crowd with a pensive stare. It hadn't been a good morning. First, just the sight of the man Lusk was a disappointment for the entire day. Second, I didn't like being manipulated by him like that. Lastly, I had let down my wife. It had only been a cup of coffee, but I still felt like I was trying to please the girl I loved. I was still a boy who wanted to impress his first crush. In a way, I felt like such a child.

A greeting nod from a patrolling police man broke my contemplative state. Of course I returned the nod, but I wasn't fooled. This police man had stared at me for too long of a time for my personal taste. Before that day, I had never seen him monitoring my street. That fact alone was suspicious and unnerving.

This didn't sit well with me. I quickly went back inside my shop and closed the door shut behind me. For a second, before I went to work on my clocks, I glowered at the floor in thought. One dominant thought stood out for me.

Mr. Lusk wasn't the only one who wanted me for my visions.

A/N: Whew! First chapter is done! They are always some of the hardest chapters for me. Anyways, I hope you liked the first chapter. The next will be up next weekend hopefully. I always like updating on weekends. I'll see you guys then!


	2. Chapter 2 Life Lessons

A/N: Ah, this was a fun chapter. Lots of sarcasm from good ol' Clockwork. And I'm very grateful for all the reviews I've gotten. I feel bad for not responding, but I got pretty busy this week. But this week I'll try to respond. Anyways, here's the second chapter! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All Danny Phantom characters do not belong to me.

Chapter 2 Life Lessons

The shrill ring of the bell on the door was my first hint that the new arriver wasn't there for my knowledge of clocks. The short explosion of sound meant the door had been forced open quickly. No one in their right mind was that eager to get into a clock shop. Me maybe, but I'm a special case you could say.

I glanced up from my work on a particularly difficult pocket watch. My eyes rested on the distressed teen of about the age fourteen that stood at the door. He was lower class. It was evident in the mud stains and mismatched patches on his tattered clothes and the tan pauper cap sitting on his head full of ebony locks.

The boy turned toward me, blue eyes wide in his rush of panic. His stare met mine, and I could see that he was alarmed even more at the sight of me. My skeptical presence didn't bother him as much as the threat he was running from apparently, because after a moment's pause he was rushing toward me, awkwardly dodging clocks as he went.

"I'm not here, alright?" the boy asked, his chest heaving for air. Instead of answering, I watched him with mild interest as he joined me behind the counter and sat by my stool as if hiding from some big monster that lived under his bed. When I didn't say anything, the teen glanced up at me and smiled in thanks. What for, I could hardly guess.

Sighing in amusement, I went back to work on the pocket watch. I brought the device closer to my face so I could see the last screw I needed to put in. The parts were so tiny that it took some effort to toil on it.

I was moments away from finishing when the door burst open once again. The sound cut off my concentration, much to my annoyance. This time I glared up at the disturbance. My patience had been worn thin.

Not surprisingly, it was a group of boys who were now in my shop. They looked about the same age as the one who sat nervously by my leg. There were three of them, all more muscular and taller than the one in hiding. And by the angry looks on their faces, I could tell they weren't friends with the first. No doubt they were the monsters from under the bed which the boy was running from.

"Where's the sorry sod?" the main boy asked me rather rudely. He was tall with short cropped brown hair and a perpetual frown on his young face. His clothes told me he was lower class, but he wasn't as poor as many others. His trousers didn't have any telltale stains, and those shiny black boots of his looked new and well earned.

"Who?" I asked politely. The sarcasm wouldn't be recognized in my voice by this bunch.

"Don't play dumb, old man," one of the main boy's devoted lackeys piped up. "We know you're hiding the kid in here somewhere. Where is he?"

"Old man?" I asked myself quietly in offended surprise. "I'm hardly thirty." The three boys looked at me as if I was an alien from Mars. Maybe it was because they hadn't expected my noncompliance. They didn't have much manners, did they?

The second flunky glanced around the room, eyes darting to each ticking clock face in growing perplexity. He finally asked me, "Why are there so many clocks in here?"

They didn't have much intelligence either.

"It's called a clock...shop," I said, annunciating both words slowly and using my hands for emphasis. My interest was depleted by this point. Idiots tend to use up most of my energy. I went back to work on the pocket watch, ignoring the group of boys.

"So you sell clocks here or something?" the main boy asked.

I stopped in mid twist of my small screwdriver, raising my eyes to the boys in astonishment. They were just begging for some carriage to run over them for their own stupidity weren't they? Sighing heavily, I said, "Yes. I sell _clocks_ in my _clock_ shop."

"That's a strange job," the second lackey pointed out.

"Thank you," I muttered dryly back at him. "You're a big help. Weren't you lads looking for someone?"

"Oh, right!" the main teen said in realization. "We know you're hiding him. Where is he?"

I tapped my chin with a ponderous forefinger before smiling slyly at the group. "Was he a shorter guy about your age?" I asked. They nodded in unison. "Black hair? Blue eyes?" More dumb, enthused bobbing of empty heads ensued. "Shame. I haven't seen him," I said with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Really?" the main boy asked, countenance and shoulders slumping with disappointment. His whole essence seemed to deflate with the news. The same motion was mimicked with his lackeys.

"Really, really," I answered.

"Wait a second," the boy said in glorious comprehension. "If you haven't seen him, how do you know what he looks like?"

"You figured that out all on your own?" I asked. "Good for you."

"Tell us where he is!" the main boy yelled angrily at me. Apparently his tolerance was slipping too. The other two boys nodded, each of their faces morphing into the exact irate expression as their leader's. They were like identical triplets. Dense triplets. The thought made me grin.

"You three are becoming redundant," I told them. My attention returned to the pocket watch. Off handedly I added, "If you're so sure he's here, why don't you look around?"

The harsh glare from the kid by my foot could be felt without me even looking down at him. He tensed up at the sound of the three boys recklessly scrounging around in search of him. Whatever he had done to make these guys angry must have had been pretty bad. They were amazingly serious during their quest for discovery. I could have given them a map with a big X marking the spot of buried treasure, and they would have followed devotedly after the reward with just as much passion.

It didn't take the dolts long to find the poor teen. All one had to do was glance around the corner of the counter I sat behind to see where he was stationed. The blue eyed boy who had been hiding jumped in fear when he was spotted.

"Oi! I found him, Julian!" one of the lackeys shouted when he unearthed the that had tried to conceal himself behind my counter. The other two quickly joined the first and dove for the hapless teen. There was a scrambling of arms and legs when the raven haired boy objected to his unfair capture. After much grunting and loud protesting, the boy found himself defeated and in the arms of the two lackeys. They grinned down at him, pleased with their efforts.

"Hold him still, boys," Julian, the main boy, ordered his followers. They obeyed and tightened their grips on both of the boy's arms. Despite his constant wiggling, the kid wasn't getting anywhere near to freedom.

Julian cocked his fist back. He was fully ready to slug his captive in the face. I could see it in his dark eyes. He was enjoying this part of the hunt.

"Now," I said and grabbed the wrist of the leader right as he began to strike. "Why can't you boys play nicely?"

The group of teens, who had all somehow decided to reside in my shop that fateful afternoon, all looked over to me. I was still sitting on my stool, the pocket watch in my right hand, Julian's wrist in my left. The boy looked furious that I had even so dared to touch him. I ignored his angry emotion and continued to stare at the others, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Let me go!" Julian demanded in a shout. He yanked his wrist out of my light grip and glared heatedly at me. "We don't have to tell you anything," he spat.

"It's my shop," I commented apathetically. "My rules. You either tell me the reason behind this violence, or walk out that door." I pointed to the exit just in case they'd forgotten where it was.

The three all shared a single stare when given this ultimatum. The raven haired boy's previously skittish and restless eyes ultimately rested on me that brief second. I detected confusion and distress in them. I didn't care to return the stare and offhandedly went back to my work as the idiots debated among themselves. Any glance in his direction would give him too much hope. I would be giving him a certain promise that I didn't want to provide for him at this point.

"Come on! Let's get out of here!" Julian ordered his minions as if he had been the mastermind behind the decision. The lackeys tightened their grips on the boy in their custody as they all blundered for the door. It was a miracle they remembered its location.

Something told me to watch them as they scrambled to leave. It must have been my natural distrust for the large number of cruel people in society. My observant eyes proved to be helpful those last few seconds.

"Stupid, bloody clock shop," Julian swore under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure I had heard the insult. When I showed indifference to his boldly expressed opinion, the teen decided to stab my pride in another way. With action.

With a malicious flourish, Julian's hand shot out and knocked over one of the mantle clocks I had precociously put near the door to show off to customers. It was a heavy thing. I hoped it hurt the foolish boy a little when his palm slammed into the ticking object. Nonetheless, the force was enough to make it tip over and fall off its perch on the table.

When the clock landed with a heavy thud against the wooden floor, I knew exactly how long it was going to take to restore the damaged thing. There was a pop of glass as the clock face smashed. Although I try not to become attached to all the clocks in my shop because they eventually get bought and I rarely see them again, I still felt a twinge of grief flare inside me at the injury of my clock.

The bell rung with the opening of the door. Julian shot me a nefarious grin that shouldn't have belonged on the face of someone so young. Then he was gone with the rest of his group and captive. I could hear their victorious laughter even through the glass of the main window.

My hands balled up into tight fists as my anger boiled to an uncanny level. Those boys had just been acting like boys until the leader of them brilliantly destroyed my merchandise. His action had not been out of fun spite. It could only be described as pure cruelty that he'd thought to repay me in that way. In that instant, I knew I wouldn't be able to stand for their brutish behavior.

I glided smoothly toward the door, my face set in a tight frown of simple anger and determination. For a moment of absurd reasoning, the clocks in my shop seemed to all slow their ticking as if cowering in the wake of my frustrated emotions. I briefly noticed this ridiculous concept. Before it could even register in my subconscious, I had gripped the doorknob and yanked the door open, causing the bell to give a sharp rin above my head. The intruding sound snapped all the clocks back into working order. The sudden combination of multiple ticking made me give one last glance back into my shop before I stepped out onto the walkway outside.

That had been strange.

The time to ponder upon the odd circumstance would have to be set for later. The destructive boys who I'd ordered out of my shop were lingering just out of the front window. They all looked over their shoulders at me, eyes wide as saucer plates and their jaws open like baby birds waiting for food. It was a rather peculiar sight that, I'll admit, I enjoyed.

"What do you _want_?" Julian finally decided to ask as he put on his brakes and brought his group and their captive to a halt behind him. The sneer in the boy's voice didn't go unnoticed by me. He had no remorse for his evil deed back in my shop.

"I have a strict rule for what goes on in my shop," I told the boy with a thin but permissive smile. "If you break something, you have to buy it. That clock you carelessly pushed off the table will cost you."

"You can't make me buy something that's broken!" Julian said indignantly. He and his buddies were getting impatient with me. It was clear in the way they shifted their already poor posture from foot to foot and threw furtive glances at each other. All they had wanted when gallivanting stupidly into my shop that day was to find the dark haired boy and beat him up for reasons unknown to me. Now that they had their subject captive, they didn't see why they should be bothered more by me. The poor dolts were terribly confused and upset. I realized this was my fault. What was so nice about it was the fact that I didn't care.

"Of course I can," I said, folding my arms across my chest. It was supposed to be an intimidating gesture, but all it did was produce heavier glares from the group of boys. Or maybe that was just from the pain of using what little of their brains they had left in their thick skulls. I couldn't tell.

"Then make me," Julian said after a short pause. Great conquest showed in his voice. He must have thought long and hard about the response and was sure it would deter me. I wondered if it would be a sin to ruin a dumb fool's day.

"I don't have to physically harm you if I want payment for what you broke," I tried to explain to the boy. "You probably come from a well off family. Your dad will have the money I need. Go ahead about your business. I'll follow you home and ask your father for payment when the time comes."

They didn't move. It was almost as if they had seen a ghost the way their faces all turned an ugly shade of chalk. The lack of color in pigment alarmed me. Surely the absence of blood to their heads would kill what little brain cells they had left in there.

"Go on," I preferred to pester. I have to admit that I was quite smug with myself. The boys looked thoroughly terrified that I would follow them all the way home and tattle to their proud mums and dads about their misdeeds. Blackmail is sweet when it is condensed into its simplest form.

Maybe it was my complacent posture, countenance, and voice inflection that spurred the leader of the group to drive his small mind to rage. Maybe it was because the boy needed anger management. Whatever the case, I was still surprised when his face flushed in hue and contorted with vexation. I'd like to state the obvious here and say that he must not have liked where his consequences were taking him.

In the peak of his displeasure, Julian lunged toward me with a hard, powerful swing of his fist. The force behind the intended punch had been expertly perfected to deliver the most hurt. He must have practiced it a lot. Probably on boys such as the dark haired one he had today.

I anticipated the move and stepped out of the line of fire with a carefree stride to the side. The bully hadn't expected his target to move. My avoidance caught him off balance. With a dramatic yelp, Julian stumbled behind me before righting himself. He got over his shock quite nicely and threw up his fist again for another attack.

Julian had made a big mistake that many take when they default into combat. He had underestimated me. While I don't pride myself on being the toughest or the quickest physically, I would like to point out that I'm rather smart in a conflict and might appear to be either of the two. That's what usually gets me through a physical row.

Catching Julian's wrist in my left hand, I said to him calmly, "Now, I don't mean to hurt you in any way." I smoothly spun his stunned body around so his back was facing me while I crouched down and grabbed his right leg with my free hand. I undid the poorly tied knot in his leather boot before wrapping the laces tightly around the young man's hand I'd intercepted. "But if I manage to dent your balloon-like pride," I told him as I made a falconer's knot, securing his wrist to his boot. "I'd like to apologize now." And I let him go.

Poor boy didn't get far. He made a shoddy attempt to jump away from me, but it did him more wrong than good. Julian screamed like a little school girl as he pitched forward and fell heavily into the muddy street. Onlookers shrieked, winced, or snickered in amusement at the sizable impact.

The sludge splattered up past Julian's face and soaked into his clothes. He was unable to roll himself out of the mire because one of his arms was tied to his leg and both were were connected together behind his back. He was going to stink like a pig farm for a day or two after this close encounter with the wet earth. And I'm pretty sure not all of that was mud he was swimming in, if you understand what I mean.

"Help me, you stupid ninnies!" Julian yelled furiously at his comrades who were watching him like mindless monkeys. The dark haired boy they were loosely holding now was having a fit of laughter over the whole thing.

Embarrassed and flustered, Julian's lackeys abandoned their captive to assist their fallen leader. With all of Julian's floundering, it was difficult for the two boys to rescue him. After some colorful curses and useless struggling, Julian was halfway untied and pulled out of the muck. His moist eyes avoided contact with mine as his friends dragged their limping friend away, fussing over the complicated knot I'd tied.

"Come back, and your father will hear about that clock you broke!" I called warningly after the three boys. They glanced fearfully over their shoulders and picked up their pace. There, I have a sharp nod at their departing forms. Hopefully, the lesson had been learned.

Proud and quite pleased with myself, I dusted off my hands and moved to return to the quiet comforts of my clock shop. I felt like a lion that had successfully defended his pride and territory. Those pesky hyenas wouldn't be back for more if they knew what was good for them. A smile fleetingly made its way to my lips at the mental image of my lion-self shaking his mane in private triumph.

That smile didn't fully make its mark on my face, though. Instead, it was replaced by a thin frown at the sight of the raven haired boy who blocked my pathway to the door. I had to quickly pull myself to a stop or I'd have run right into him.

For a second, we stared silently at each other. He produced a small, awkward smile. I returned it with a soft look of irritation. His big, blue eyes blinked. He wasn't deterred in the least bit. What did he want?

"Thank you for saving me from those guys," the boy finally said timidly.

"Oh," I sighed, relieved. For a second I thought his creepy stare was going to steal my soul. Maybe I had read too many fiction novels in my time. It had been a very peculiar thought, nonetheless. "Don't worry about it. They got what they deserved," I grumbled while patting his head absentmindedly and stepping smoothly around his obstacle-like body.

The familiar bell rang overhead as I reentered my ticking domain. I stood at the entrance, inspecting the clocks for a small second before bending down to examine the damage to the wounded timekeeper on the floor. My fingers were just curling around the broken device when the bell jingled behind me for another time that day.

"Do you need help cleaning up the clock Julian broke, sir?" the voice of the raven haired boy asked from the doorway.

The boy didn't see the scowl I flatly directed at the far wall. When I'd confronted Julian and his lackeys, I hadn't once thought that my actions would make me the saviour of some unfortunate school boy. It was too late to take my actions back. I wouldn't have changed my decision if I could, anyways. Those stupid boys needed to be put in their place, but the price came with them leaving their baggage on my front doorstep...literally.

Sighing in slight annoyance, I turned to look over my shoulder at the boy who stood at the entrance. He had his head peeking out of a small crack he had created with the door. The hopeful look on his face was cute, but it didn't faze me as I told him in a flat, undiluted tone, "No."

I didn't see his reaction because I turned right back around to my injured clock, picked the many pieces up, and proceeded to carry its remains to the counter in the back for repairs. Halfway during my travel there, I heard the telltale footsteps of someone closely following behind me. Puzzled and ever so growing with exasperation, I stopped and looked down over my shoulder with an unadulterated glare. The boy's blue eyes connected with mine, and he actually counteracted with a guilty grin. This kid was too persistent.

"Where did you learn to tie a knot like that?" he asked, hopeful for a response.

"America," was my clipped answer. I'd already had enough of his presence, and it had only been fifteen minutes since I first met him. This wasn't turning out to be a very prosperous day.

Cutting right to the point, I asked him with a tired and bland tone, "Are you done here, kid?"

"No, sir," he said with all honesty. He even added in a short shake of his head.

"Brilliant," I sighed sarcastically for my own personal benefit. Then, under my breath so he couldn't hear, I uttered, "Bloody brilliant."

"Are you American, sir?" the boy asked. I continued to finish my clean-up job, ignoring his question. "You don't seem to have an accent," he decided to point out when I didn't answer right away.

"No. I'm not American. I just so happen to have lived fifteen years of my life there," I told him, heavily dumping the pieces of the clock down onto my work table. Contempt filled me as tiny screws and cogs bounced or rolled off the wooden surface and dotted the floor with little _plinks_. Not a good day, indeed.

"Fifteen years! That's as old as I am! Why were you there?" More questions I didn't want to answer. This kid had gone beyond bothersome. He was entering the realm of thoroughly obnoxious.

"Work," I growled my reply. I flung the back door open that led into the rest of the house and slammed it shut in the young man's face. For a fleeting second I hoped I'd hit his nose in the rough process of closing it, but no cry of pain was uttered from the other side of my barricade. Hopefully I hadn't woken my two daughters who were, at the time, resting upstairs.

While I wished I could have laid on a defensive technique and holed up in my back room till the short and questioning enemy gave up and left, I was only there for the broom and dustbin beside the fireplace. I grabbed the cleaning supplies and marched back to the door. At the last second, I changed my mind from kicking the door open and went with a less destructive approach to opening my entryways. It was a well change of plans. My door didn't have to suffer from my emotions, and the raven haired boy didn't have to go home with a bloody nose.

He was standing right where I'd left him. My reappearance sparked his tongue into functioning again. "What kind of work?" he asked.

"Boats," I practically spat at the boy as I strode past him. _Clang_ went the metal dustbin on the floor as I carelessly dropped it there. _Whump_ went the broom when I slammed the bushy side to the ground. During the time I swept up the fragments of glass, the boy didn't stop assaulting me with his questions.

"What kind of boats?"

"Ferry boats."

"Were you on the Mississippi River then?"

"Yes."

"Was it fun?"

It was the first question he'd asked that made me stumble. I stopped in the middle of a sweeping motion and stared hard at the floor before raising my gaze to the boy's. He watched me with genuine interest. His face showed the expression of someone who was baited to my every word. It was something different. I hadn't expected it. That's what made me give a small smile. Not many can knock me off balance. Somehow this boy had cut right through my defenses.

"It was an experience," I said at last.

That shut him up. He was satisfied with my pause and release of a smile. He rewarded me with a couple seconds of silence in which I spent throwing out the glass pieces on the street outside. When I came back inside, he was perched on the corner of one of the display tables, waiting for me. His innocent expression reminded me of a loyal dog's. It made me second guess his character. Wasn't a dog a man's best friend?

"You'll have to sweep the rest of the shop floor now, sir," he said as I passed him to put away the broom and dustbin. His bold statement made me stop and give him a pointed scowl.

He pointed down to the place I had just swept. The cleared circle I had cleaned was like an oasis of unsoiled floor. It was evident that the rest of the shop's dirty floor needed a good sweeping with the broom. When was the last time I cleaned this place? A couple of months ago? Years? Oh dear.

"I-I could sweep it for you, sir," the boy nervously offered.

"I have no need for a maid, boy," I said tactlessly. "Unless you want to do it without pay."

"I'm a good duster and polisher, sir," he insisted adamantly. "I can also mop, clean your chimney, sweep, and cook. I've been told I make a great cup of coffee. Please! You could also teach me how to fix your clocks. I'm a fast learner! It could make your work go faster, which could bring in more customers."

"What was that?" I asked in sudden interest.

"You could teach me how to work on the clocks," he said with rapturous hope. A smile was beginning to break out onto his face with each passing second.

"No, no. Before that," I said with urgency.

Confused but still clinging onto optimism, he said with less conviction, "I can clean very well."

"No. The one in the middle!" I specified, sharply gesturing what I wanted with my hands.

Smile wavering with uncertainty, the boy thought back. Quickly, he remembered and said with hesitation, "I make a great cup of coffee?"

"That's the one!" I said with a firm nod. "My wife is going to love you. You're hired. But if I don't see any improvement in the first two weeks, I won't be able to pay you anything. Money is sparse in these slow times."

"Really? You're letting me work here?" he asked in complete astonishment. The grin that washed over his face was contagious. I found myself mimicking it, chuckling at his happiness. This was an intrepid move on my part, but I found something special in the young man sitting before me. Maybe he could freshen up my shop. I don't know how he could make it any better, but something told me I would need him down along the road. My instincts had never failed me before.

"Just as long as you don't ask so many questions," I laid down the most important rule. He laughed at this. He must have known that he had become maddening at the end there. I produced a hand to shake on the unspoken deal between us while asking, "What's your name, kid?"

The boy grabbed my hand with a beaming grin planted on his features. He had an unusually firm handshake for someone his age and of his impoverished status. He had no trouble at all telling me his name. If I wasn't mistake, I caught a hint of pride to it as he said, "Daniel. Daniel Masters."

A/N: Yep. You read right. Daniel Masters. Now, before everyone freaks out on me in reviews and such, this Danny or, really, Daniel, is not going to be the same Danny Fenton from the show. This character will have differences due to the time period and his up bringing. And you will see the real Danny from the show we've all come to know and love. He's being saved for a little later on. So. Now...review away!

But, before I forget, I want to have this chapter as a reminder to David Carradine's unfortunate death. He's most well known to me as Bill from the Kill Bill movies. He plays a great villain in those wonderful and gruesome movies. But you readers will most know him as Clockwork's voice actor. To write this fan fiction, I had to hear his voice in my head many times. In a weird way, his voice is somewhat a little part of me as a writer now, and it was really sad to hear of his death. He died in Bangkok, Thailand on June 3rd, 2009. He was 72 years old. Wherever he is now, I hope it's serving him well.


	3. Chapter 3 Dream Spirit

A/N: Thanks for all your reviews, guys! They've been helping me out a lot.

Funny story, actually. An English reviewer commented on how some of the American slang was...disturbing. I didn't exactly understand at first. Then I was glancing through British slang for the fun of it one day ('cause I'm strange like that.) and found something quite disquieting on my part. Apparently Fanny for Americans is a nickname for a girl named Francis or the butt. In England, fanny means...something quite vulgar. Something to do with women. I don't need to say more. Heh. Yeah. Didn't mean to do that. So forgive me for my ignorance. I'll be changing that mistake. And thank you to that reviewer who spoke up about the slang.

Anyways, on with the chapter. It's a little bloody. So for any of you squeamish people out there, I'll warn you now about it. To the rest of you, carry on and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own any Danny Phantom characters.

Chapter 3 Dream Spirit

With a gentle swell of familiar contentment, I surged upward and over the warm, twinkling candle lights belonging to the foggy night of the city of London. If a mouth belonged to me in this state, I would have made it smile slightly. Instead, I viewed the rooftops without any form of expression and silently made my way to the River Thames. I had no body or any distinct form that I could think of. Not even smoke. I was invisible to the human eye as well. The thing that propelled me around the night sky was only a lone, curious soul out for a stroll around the narrow, well-known streets of London.

This form was a common one for me in my dreams. I've always dreamed without a body of any kind. I was free to roam wherever I pleased. It was a calming, peaceful sensation to float about without a care or thought of destination.

Sometimes I was placed in recent times in London or in the city of St. Louis, Missouri in America where I used to live. On rare occasions I found myself in a different time or place. When that happened, my dreamworld usually took me to the past. I've had wild dreams of the Romans and their gladiator pits, adventurous trips down the Amazon River in search of the Mayans and their gold with Cortez and his crew, and nightmares containing bloody battle scenes of the Revolutionary war.

Dreaming of the far future was more sparse than dreaming of the past. I didn't remember many of those dreams. All my mind could comprehend were a few colors and sounds. Some faces surfaced from time to time, but they eventually faded away. Only a few of those dreams stood out. I was glad of this. I didn't believe I was ready to see what the world would become in the next couple of decades. It would all be too overwhelming.

Every factor of the senses was true and vibrant with all my dreams, though. It was always as if I was right there. If I had a body, I know I could have reached out and touched the things that went on in my dreams. Sometimes it was be scary. Sometimes it could be enjoyable. To dream so vividly was a gift and a curse.

That night I was able to explore my city. Only when my eyes were closed and sleep had me in its soft grip was I able to observe the city with admiration. While I was awake, the busy, filth infested streets were only a blunder of people and annoying sounds. The smog was unhealthy and ugly. The people were either boring and conceited or poor and suffering. I viewed London as an outside force sucking the life out of its people. There was no love towards it.

In my dreams, though, London was just as alive as you and me. It pulsed with the beat of striving people in the streets and buildings. It was constantly growing like a prosperous flower. Every block of rock in the cobble-stone streets had a rhythm in life. I could feel it. The world was alive. I was so in tune with these sensations in my dreams. The circle of life was everywhere, and I am content with it. Death was sad, but that was what made everything so balanced. Without death, there could be no life. I accepted it all in my dreams.

I always tended to forget the feeling when I woke. The moment my eyes opened and my mind grumbled into clarity after a restful sleep, the feeling of being one with life was long gone. Human emotions clogged my heavy mind, and I was ready for a day full of struggle and merriment. Only when I returned to my dreams could I find the peace my human mind could have never obtained in the living world.

So, with the wisdom and understanding beyond mine or anyone's years, my dream self traveled at a leisurely pace through the foggy streets of London. The city is quieter at such a late hour, but its still busy. Taverns, with their low lamp lit insides, boarded men looking to drink away their financial sorrows. The women closely with them were doing all they could to sustain what little money their families had, giving up their pride and dignity in the sexual process.

That night I was interested in one such bar on Hanbury Street. I wandered toward the area with the pull of sudden unknown curiosity. This happened a lot in my dreams. If something caught even an ounce of my fancy, I would follow and study it all the way through. I didn't question it. Going with the tide was something natural in my odd dreamworld. Actually, if I ignored it, I would have been quite surprised with myself.

The tavern was full of boisterous people that early morning. To be exact, it was five o' twenty seven in the morning. While dreaming, I had an eerily acute sense of time. I could also tell you the day, month, and year. The down side to this strange ability was my forgetfulness upon awaking. I rarely remembered my dreams; and while I dreamed, I hardly know about my human self in the waking world.

Quite odd, I understand. The common man or woman does not dream this way. I remember the day I spoke about my dreams to my father. I was ten and full of questions. My father told me they were of the devil and should be cast away. When I told my mother the very same day, she said they were a gift of God and that I should cherish them. Either way, I understood they were dissimilar to common dreams. I never spoke of them again...until I met Lottie.

My spirit peered into one of the windows there at the tavern and watched listlessly as men ordered their drinks, told stories of the sea and women, played card games gruffly with each other, and generally had a time of merrymaking. Scantily clad women hung onto some of the men. The way they looked at the men and touched them was a type of secret art they were experts in.

It was all interesting to view. Primal desire was shown in the men's eyes when they rested their gazes on bursting cleavage or the brief show of a leg clothed in hose. To feel the strong want from even my outside presence was somehow engrossing to my dream form.

The sight wasn't enough to keep me staring through the muggy pane of glass all night. Soon, I had moved on into the tavern. I lazily flew around the room, observing mugs of beer, glancing at the hands of the men in the card game, listening passively to a tale about a sea monster, and all round taking in the feel of the people in the crowded room.

Although enough to keep my attention for the brief moment, this hadn't been what caught my curiosity. I knew I wasn't here to look at all this, but I didn't push at the feeling. The time would come for me to observe with more scrutiny at some point in the near future. I was never impatient in my dream state. I didn't feel much emotion. I just observed. It was a very unearthly experience.

Boots descending a staircase in the back of the building attracted me there. Wooden planks squeaked with the shifting weight of the woman coming down the stairs. I took her in. She wore a revealing dress the color of crimson that displayed her robust shoulders and rather plump neck. The ends of her ruffled skirt were clutched loosely in her hands to prevent a stumble. I could see her black, dirty boots as they naturally found every step in the staircase.

Her long and very tired face turned to check on the rest of the tavern. Her brown eyes were dull and filled with a hardship that was of a mother with a life of constant deprivation. The furious brown curls of her hair were tightly pinned to the back of her head. They bounced with every step she made while traversing down the stairs.

When she reached the landing, the woman quickly and quietly went to a back door that would lead into a garden in the backyard. With a nimbleness my human self would have been quite proud of, I dashed to the door and made it out and onto the other side before the woman managed to softly close it behind her.

On the small strip of cement outside the door, the air was crisp and cool. The weather was changing gradually at night from the overlap of summer and fall. The garden was cramped and dying. Fighting withered plants stuck up from the firm soil, brown and ugly in the murky light of the lamp that hung beside the door and illuminated the landing the woman stood on. The wooden railing and the pathway beyond was being blocked by a person in shadow.

The woman gave a small start at the sight of the man in the tiny garden. She placed her hand lightly on her chest in her startle, but the embarrassed smile that splayed across her lips was a clear indicator she was not frightened by the person's presence.

"Beg my pardon, sir," the woman said in a heavy, fretful sigh. "For a nasty moment I believed you were a spirit. Such a silly thought of me." She gave a nervous chuckle.

I looked to the shadowy figure that stood just outside the warm circle of light cast out from the flickering flame sitting in the hanging lamp. It didn't move. This interested me. I slowly floated closer to this mysterious person, distinctly wondering what it looked like without the cloak of darkness and who he or she was. I might be wise in this invisible spirit-like form, but I am not all knowing.

"Sir?" the woman asked, confusion and seduction in her voice now. I glanced back at her. She was at the wooden railing, leaning slightly against it so that her breasts were well seen in the lamplight and the shadows created curves that might not have been entirely there.

"Were you looking for a lady tonight, by any chance?" she continued in a soft coo. "It just so happens I can provide some assistance, my fine gentleman."

The shadow remained still. If I had been human, I would have called the moment eerie. Just when the woman began to think that she had mistaken the form for something it was not, it moved. The graceful way it advanced was something I'd never seen in my spirit or human form. I watched it majestically come forward with something close to awe.

The candle that had been burning brightly for all night long suddenly extinguished itself. There was no shift of the wind. Only a cold chill that rested itself upon the confined space of the backyard.

A white, chilly puff of mist exited the woman's mouth when she said with a superior smirk, "I do charge a fair price for my services. Just so you kno-!"

The fathomless shadow moved in one deft, fatal strike. The sharp knife flashed in the dim, early morning light before it swiftly plunged into the throat of the woman. She didn't have the time to fight back or scream. The knife had destroyed her means of voicing her terror.

With another vicious stab, the knife struck an artery. Hot, red blood squirted from the break of her skin. It flung into the night air, spattering against her attacker and falling like raindrops to the ground. She soon followed with a gargled and confused gasp. Her form was limp as it lay there at her killer's mercy, or lack there of.

I watched without much emotion. I know I felt sadness for the loss of life, but I understood that this kind of thing happened. I'd seen plenty of murders in spirit form. This one was no different. It was cruel and heartless, but then so was winter with her relentless snow and her deathly freezing winds.

Blood was everywhere from the cut artery. It seeped into the woman's grimy red dress, trickled down the railing, and traveled like thick water across the cement landing. It dripped down into the garden, feeding the plants with its crimson life. In the darkness, its color was a toxic black.

The murderer seemed to be thrilled by the sight of the red liquid. A low, maniacal chuckle was uttered from his shadowy form. He kept bringing up his knife and plunging it down into the dying woman. The tip sunk many times into her abdomen. The motion and the sound of his laughter and ripping flesh was feverish.

Then, with a relieved sigh that sounded like a sob with her own blood clogging her throat, the woman died. I felt her spirit begin to detach itself from her body. I urged it to leave this earth. Heaven was where she belonged now. It would be more kind to her than this world could have ever been.

It was only when she was dead that the killer revealed his true colors. He quickly jumped to his feet and leaned over the woman's cut and mutilated body, his face not even an inch away from hers. The disturbed shine in his eyes was sinister and full of savage lust.

"Oh, no, no, no!" the man giggled in total enjoyment. "You are now mine, my darling! Come! Come! You smelled delicious. I know you have to taste good too!"

Something was incorrect here. I didn't know what. An ominous feeling had descended upon the landing so suddenly that I was struck dumb. I was almost fearful. I didn't know why, but a great horror was chaotically swirling around me and the killer both. It felt thick and strangling. I'd never felt this in any of my dreams. It was so odd...and terrifying. Somehow this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. This murder was wrong! I didn't understand why. Why was it so different from the others?

I watched with growing dread as the killer opened his mouth. I felt and watched the soul of the woman manifest itself in a yellow mist as it traveled from her mouth and into her awaiting killer's. I could hear her awful, distressed scream as the life was sucked out of her. It had been a faint, muffled shriek, but the emotion in it held all the truth.

It was a horrible sight. He had eaten it all. Consumed her soul like it was nothing but a tasty meal. The woman was no more. Her soul was gone. She had ceased to exist. There was no Heaven to look forward to, no Hell to dread. There was nothing. _She_ was nothing.

"Ah," the killer sighed in pleasure. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy, and he stood to smile victoriously at the sky. "Delectable. Simply delectable."

He remained this way for a minute or two, shaking uncontrollably with delight and giggling in his triumph of the kill. A faint mystical glow began to gather around his shadowy form. It grew as the power he'd collected from the soul radiated around him. I watched in alarm as his misshapen, fathomless form transformed itself into an actual person. He was simply a man dressed in casual middle class attire for the time period. Nothing looked scary or demonic about him. Actually, in the dim light coming from an awakening sun on the bleary horizon, he looked almost handsome and in his early thirties. The quirky smile displayed on his lips and the strong jaw was quite striking.

It was the white knuckled hand still holding onto the knife dripping with the innocent woman's blood and the splatters of the gore all across his face and clothing that reminded me of what he truly was. A malicious murderer who had somehow eaten a soul. How had he done that? He looked so human, but he felt so wrong to even look at.

The man suddenly opened his eyes. They blazed a ruby, nefarious red that held nothing but a wild anger and unbridled wickedness that wanted and craved power. His lips directed themselves into a humorless smile, and those blood-chilling eyes of his settled on me.

"What are you going to do about it?" he asked me with a mocking smirk.

***

Gasping fiercely, I jerked awake from the dream. The jolt flung me out of the other world and hurled me violently into the human one. I called it violent because, while I was human, I was subject to all those emotions my spirit form could not have felt in my dreams.

Now, in a swell of unfiltered and strong feelings, smells, and experiences, I saw the blood and the continual fall of the knife. It was all my mind could remember of the dream. The moment repeated itself ceaselessly in my mind's eye. I could not get rid of it.

It overwhelmed me. The breath was ripped out of my throat. Choking heavily, I fell off my stool at the workplace I'd been sleeping at and landed on the wooden floor with a hard _thud_. I pulled myself up onto my hands and knees, sucking in deep, greedy gasps of air. I was incapable of moving, it felt like. The task of merely breathing was difficult for me. It was scary, and I began to slip into panic.

I didn't understand why I was so upset. Of course, my memory was giving me a graphic visual of a brutal murder, but I knew deep down that this was worse. I'd seen something else while I was asleep that had disturbed that other form. I just couldn't remember more, or I didn't want to. Maybe my human brain wouldn't be able to function with the information hidden, deeply embedded inside it now. All I had was the recollection of a woman being stabbed to death and all the ponderous emotions that came with it.

The shrill ring of the door to my shop snapped me out of my dwindling thought process. Swallowing the lump growing in my ragged throat, I quickly looked up to see who was coming in so suddenly. I was still on the floor, no doubt looking like a deranged, panic-ridden fool.

I froze at the sight of my wife.

"Aldan!" Lottie fearfully whispered my name. She dropped the bonnet she'd been taking off while coming through the front entrance. In a rush of rustling skirts, my wife was kneeling before me and latching her hands onto my shaking shoulders.

"What's wrong?" she asked, terrified at the state she had caught me in. I must have looked worse than I felt. I watched as her eyes roamed and searched my face for answers. "Talk to me, Aldan!" she persisted in a low hiss when I was unable to speak.

"A-another d-d-dream," I managed to stutter out for her. Almost mechanically, I wrapped my arms around my chest as if to keep myself together. I didn't want to fall apart. I'd never felt this way before. It scared me. I did not understand.

Lottie stared at me for a long time. The grief in her face told me she wanted to know more about this. She so desperately needed to understand where I was coming from so she could help me. I could see she was tempted to bombard me with questions, but the frightened look in her eyes kept her away from opening her mouth right away. The fear of the unknown forced her to ponder her loyalty and devotion towards me as a person and her husband. It wasn't long till she found her answer. She concluded this silent question to herself with a sharp nod.

"Was it of another murder?" she asked after our pause. "Like the one in the paper this morning?" So she had read the paper despite Mr. Lusk's warning. That was very much like my Lottie.

It took my mouth some time to come up with an answer. "I-I think so, Lottie," I said quietly. "I'm...I'm sorry," I added at the end, not able to meet her bold, furtive eyes that raked my face for understanding and clarity.

"For what?" she questioned, thoroughly surprised by my apology. She hunched down some more to try and reach my eyes with her own. Our gazes connected, and I slowly followed hers as she sat back upright.

"F-for all this!" I heatedly said in a low voice. One of my arms unlatched itself from its wrapped position around my waist to add to my explanation. "For you finding me like a crazy person on the floor of my shop. You," I paused, wondering in fear if this was going to break us, "you didn't know about my dreams till you married me, Lottie. I understand that they might be too much for you. Sometimes I find it difficult myself to carry the burden of them. You don't deserve this. You des-."

_Slap!_

"Stop it right there, Aldan James Boone," Lottie sternly ordered me.

I stared at her in surprise, a hand on my throbbing cheek she had just harshly slapped. I could feel it reddening as the imprint of her hand burned. She could hit hard. That wasn't very surprising.

A frustrated frown made my wife's forehead wrinkle with emotion as she told me in a passionate breath, "I love you, Mr. Boone, but sometimes you don't seem to see this fact. You can't control what happens in your dreams. I can't control mine as well. I don't see you packing up your belongings and clocks and leaving because I have no command over my nightmares. This shouldn't come between us. It _hasn't_ come between us. Have more confidence in us, Aldan, or I'm going to have to slap you again."

I didn't know what to say to this. Lottie's words had been true and sincere. She really did love me. She loved me as much as I loved her. Our bond could shake, but it could not be broken. How had I become so fortunate?

Rubbing my sore cheek, I muttered with loving tease, "You hit like a girl."

"Good," Lottie shot back, "because if you haven't noticed, I _am_ a woman." A smile gathered at the corners of her lips. It was beautiful.

"Oh, I've noticed," I said with a chuckle. I slowly leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. We rested our foreheads against each others. I looked into her eyes and assured her with the only words I knew to get the job done.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you too."

"I won't be daft again."

"Very well."

As if feeling the same emotion of relief and settled content, Lottie and I sighed in unison. This might sound unmanly, but with her so close to me, I felt warm and safe. The vision of the dream murder had been banished to the far corners of my brain. Her gentle yet strong spirit is a comfort to me. It's what marriage should do for two people. It's not something people are taught in class by their school teachers. It's something the two in the marriage can only work out by years of labor and care with each other as partners. That's what Lottie and I were. Partners.

"Daddy?" an innocent voice questioned me from the doorway to the back of the house. Lottie and I pulled away, both of us turning our heads to see the two little girls standing there. Both their blonde heads of hair were ratty and mussy. Their soft cheeks were still blushing with a hot fever. They looked so fragile standing at the entryway with each other, Francis with her one-eyed scruffy teddy bear clutched to her tiny chest.

"Yes, Amelia?" I asked the oldest who had been the one to call my name. "You feeling alright, sweetheart?"

"Are we going to have story time?" she asked in a whine, sleepily rubbing her eye with one small fist.

Lottie and I shared a glance. I smiled at her before returning my attention to our two daughters. "Of course we are," I told them. "Now off to bed with the lot of you so Mum and I can think of a good one to tell."

Satisfied with this answer, Amelia and Francis dashed off back to their bed by the fireplace with delighted giggles. Their scurrying footsteps were like magic to my ears. I hadn't heard it in a long time.

Lottie and I got to our feet. My wife was smiling wily at me as she brushed off her skirt.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Is this story going to be filled with colorful pirates on the search for buried treasure? Or is tonight going to be a tale of fairy princesses?"

"Why? You don't favor fairy princesses and pirates?" I asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "If I'm not mistaken, you seemed to enjoy those stories as much as the girls."

"Indeed I do," Lottie responded while wrapping her arms around my shoulders. "But I'm in the inclination for something new tonight. Something more...personal, you could say. You have any of those kinds of stories in that head of yours, Mr. Boone?"

I pressed my lips together and pretended to think hard. My arms snaked around her waist and pressed lightly into the small of her back, bringing her close to me. "I believe I might have one of those," I said. "I'll tell them about one of my dreams of the future."

"The future?" Lottie asked, surprised and subtly enthralled.

"Of course," I said. "I might not remember the entire dream, but the best part of story time is making the tale up, am I right?"

"You're correct," she said with a nod. "And what makes this story so entertaining, might I ask?"

"Because this one is about a boy," I told her. "A boy with the power to turn...invisible!"


End file.
